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"Give them a still! What's that?"
"A still alarm, sir. Give them a tip to the fire. But it must have been
going some minutes. They were spinning down the avenue by the
time I got half-way. Then I came back for my cap, and school was
coming out."
"Did you speak to any of them? What boys saw you coming back?"
asked Halsey, thoughtfully.
"Oh, I don't know, sir," answered the youngster. "Everybody was
excited, I suppose, but me. I've always run to fires since I was knee-
high. They were all shouting. You were just coming out of Mr.
Meeker's room, and I nearly ran into you."
"Do you mean you ran to Twenty-sixth Street and back in that time?"
"More'n that, sir. I ran half-way to Twenty-seventh and out into the
street and grabbed hold of 61's rope. There were only six or seven
fellows on her, and I ran with 'em to the corner hydrant."
Something of the master's trouble was now reflecting in the pupil's
face. Something in the minuteness of Halsey's questioning suggested
graver trouble. "I hope nothing's wrong, sir," said Prime, anxiously. "I
know I oughtn't to have run when I did without permission, but—we
don't have a fire next door every day."
Halsey rose and placed the long, lean hand on the little fellow's
shoulder. Two years and more he had known him. He and "Tut" had
given him the first touches in Latin and Greek, and, as head-master,
Halsey had had many an occasion to reprove or reprimand, for high
spirits or mischief led to many a scrape, yet there was kindness, there
was even a touch of tenderness, in the master's tone as he answered.
"Perhaps you ought not to have run when you did," said he, "but, as it
is, I'm thankful."
And Shorty could have sworn Othello's swarthy hand was trembling.
Two minutes later the master had taken the names of two of 61's men
who were on the rope when Shorty joined them. Then, bidding him
say nothing of this conversation to any schoolmate until after the
Doctor's coming on the morrow, Halsey bade him hurry home and get
a rub-down and dry clothes. As Shorty turned to the rack for his
overcoat a sudden thought struck the master.
"Where was the letter written—Lawton's letter—that you took to the
Doctor this morning?"
"It didn't say, sir. It was postmarked Bridgeport, but—that don't prove
anything. Somebody else could have put it in for him there."
Jerking the overcoat from its peg and tossing it carelessly over his
arm, something bright came spinning out of the pocket, bounded to
the floor, and rolled in easy circle up in front of the master's table,
where it struck a crack, spun on edge a second, and then settled with
a metallic buzz and bur-r-r, and then lay still and shining opposite the
middle bench. Halsey started and stared, with a gleam in his eyes.
Shorty, surprised, sped after it, stooped and picked it up, then held it
between his thumb and forefinger, gazing at it in astonishment. "Why,
Mr. Halsey," he cried, "it's a ten-dollar gold piece!"
"Yes," said Halsey, "I know. See if there are any more."
 CHAPTER XII.
When school reassembled the following day the First Latin knew to a
man by nine o'clock that the cause of Shorty's "late" the previous day
was a letter from Lawton. Warned by Jim Hulker that the rector had
taken Hoover to the Clarendon, Briggs scouted miserably down the
avenue on their trail, filled with no one knew what nervous
apprehension of trouble to come, and, dodging in at the office a
moment later, ascertained from a bell boy that they had gone into a
parlor on the second floor. Briggs knew what that meant. The Doctor
was cross-questioning his sullen pupil, and there were all manner of
things Hoover might be driven into confessing if closely and
scientifically pressed, and what might that not mean for Briggs? Not
five minutes later, down they came, the Doctor erect, stately, and
deliberate as ever, Hoover slinking wretchedly alongside. A carriage
had been called, and into this Hoover was practically hustled by his
preceptor, and together they were driven away towards Fourteenth
Street, and Briggs was left behind. They were going to see Hoover's
father, was the apparent explanation, and it boded ill. A ten-minute
walk took Briggs over to the house of the Metamora. The hose
carriage had just returned, and was being washed. The Hulkers had
dropped off at a certain billiard-hall, said one of the firemen, and
thither sped Briggs. It was a resort much frequented by certain of the
Columbia students in those days, and there were a dozen or more
scattered about the big room at the moment. Over in a corner,
whispering together, were the two Hulkers with a brace of followers.
Over against them, across the room, ostensibly—even ostentatiously—
engaged in a game of billiards, were Joy and Julian, and all the little
pluck that Briggs had left went oozing out of his finger-tips at the
sight. Quickly he slunk back into the vestibule and crouched there,
peering through the glazed doors, uncertain what to do. A bar-boy,
coming up from below at the moment with cigars and mixed drinks on
a tray, found him peering in through the crack, and knew him at once.
"Sa-ay," whispered Briggs, the moment he discovered who had come.
"Tell Mr. Hulker I want to speak to him out here a minute, will you?"
The boy looked hard at him, made no reply, went deliberately in with
his tray-load, deposited the glasses on little tables near the big ones,
where a jovial party of Columbians were playing, collected his pay,
counted it carefully over, then with exaggerated impudence of manner
dawdled over to where the Hulker set were in eager conference in
their corner, and said something to them. Briggs saw, and so did Joy
and Julian, the backward toss of the head, the over-the-shoulder jerk
of the thumb towards the entrance, saw the four young fellows start
and glance questioningly thither; then presently, hands in pockets and
head in air, Hulker major came sauntering out, just as Julian caught
sight of a carroty head ducking behind the framework of the doorway.
"There's that sneak Briggs now," he quickly whispered to his chum.
"What are those fellows planning, do you s'pose?"
There was a brief confabulation in the hallway without, and then back
came Hulker,—no loitering now,—said a word or two to his fellows,
and the four picked up their canes and overcoats and started for the
door. The bar-boy went running after them.
"I'll pay you to-morrow," Hulker major answered, impatiently; and
Julian heard it. The boy was importunate, and glanced at the desk.
The clerk came out from behind his barricade.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hulker, but the manager left strict orders that that
account must be settled before you could be served again. You told
the boy you would settle everything before you left, and to get those
cigars. Now, I've got to take the money out of the till and pay for 'em
if you don't."
Angrily, and with ugly words, the elder Hulker turned on the clerk. "I
haven't any money just now, I tell you. We've been at that fire all the
morning. It's too late to get a check cashed. I'll bring you the money
to-night, Billy, I'll swear to——"
But the controversy was cut short by the sudden entrance of the
manager himself. He was a man who prided himself on the
"respectability" of his place. Order and decorum were things he
insisted on. Even the mildest of sherry-cobblers, for which the bar was
famous, was forbidden to the student or youth who showed the
faintest symptom of over-stimulation. Case-hardened politicians and
men about town avoided Martigny's, for the reason that they could
never get enough there. Student trade was something he catered to
only so long as it came through the well-bred and well-behaved of
their number. The Hulker set he much disapproved of and had
frequently cautioned, but money was an object, and for a time those
young fellows had it and spent it in abundance. Of late there had
come a change. Something had occurred to limit their supplies, and
within a month they had run up bills at every neighboring bar or
billiard-room where they could get credit, and now Martigny, after
thrice presenting his account, had drawn the line. Quietly but firmly
he told the elder that that bill must be settled then and there or it
would be sent by a messenger to his mother at once. It was
impossible for the players at the tables not to hear what was going
on. There were sly winks and quizzical glances. Columbiads, old or
young, fought shy of the Hulkers, but even they were unprepared for
the scene that followed.
"I haven't got a cent with me, Johnny," protested the elder, while the
others crowded about in indignant chorus. "I swear I'll fetch it to you
to-night, or in two hours, if you must have it."
"You've sworn to the same effect twice before, Mr. Hulker," said the
manager, calmly, "and I cannot trust you. I was down in the bar-room
when your orders came for this round of drinks and cigars, and the
boy declared that you showed him gold, and declared further that
you'd settle the whole account. It's fourteen dollars and seventy-five
cents, and I want that money now."
"It ain't mine, Johnny. It was given me for a particular purpose,"
protested Hulker. "That was just bluffing. I didn't think he'd take it in
earnest."
"But he did, Mr. Hulker, and so did I, and so will your mother when my
messenger gets there ten minutes from now. Get your coat, Mr.
Tracy," he said, turning to his assistant. "I'll send you around with the
message. That's all, gentlemen. I won't detain you further than to say
that you will not be allowed in this room hereafter."
"Sa-ay, stop! Hold on!" cried Hulker. "Here, I'll—I'll pay it now. But of
all the dash, dash, dashed mean——"
"No bad language, Mr. Hulker," said Martigny, calmly. "A special
policeman is at the door." He glanced at the coin tendered by the
trembling hand of the leader. "Give Mr. Hulker five dollars and twenty-
five cents," said he, calmly, to the desk. "There's a friend of yours
peeking in at the door. You might inquire now what he wants." And
with unruffled civility the manager led the way to the door, closed it
after the crestfallen quartette, and came back thoughtfully chinking
the coins, just as Joy and Julian, laying aside their cues, hurried to the
desk to pay for their game.
"Was that red-headed specimen there yet when you came up,
Martigny?" asked Julian.
"Yes, sir; but he scuttled away down-stairs as soon as he saw me.
Who is he?"
"One of the Hulker set, and none of ours," was the brief answer, as
Julian's keen eyes took in the two coins Martigny was still
mechanically passing back and forth from the fingers of one hand to
the other. "Ten-dollar gold pieces," said he to Joy, as the two hurried
down the stairs and out on the busy street. There, "scooting" along in
the keen December wind, heads bowed and half hidden in high coat-
collars, and huddling together, the discomfited quartette, reinforced at
the corner by Briggs, were just turning to cross Broadway when a
carriage came driving rapidly by. Seated therein, erect and majestic,
was the Doctor, apparently lost in thought. By his side a pasty-faced
young fellow, with flitting, beady black eyes, glanced furtively out and
recognized his fellows, made some quick signal with the hand, waved
it from the window, and pointed towards the northeast corner of
Madison Square.
"I'll bet I know what that means," said Julian, as the five halted,
irresolute, and gazed after the carriage. "Pop's had him in limbo for
over an hour, and the moment he gets out he wants those fellows to
meet him. We could find something worth knowing, old man, if we
could see them together again." But not until long after did Julian
dream how much.
The Doctor left Hoover at the steps of the brownstone mansion, saw
him safely within-doors, summoned the grave butler to his carriage,
said a few words in low tone, and was about to order "drive on,"
when he was aware of two young gentlemen running up, panting a bit
and red in the face.
"Ha, Joy! Julian!" he cried, as they raised their caps. "What brings you
here?"
"What news of Lawton, sir? Doremus just told us there was a letter."
And to substantiate the story, Doremus himself came puffing after the
pair.
"Where'd you hear it?" asked the Doctor of the third youngster,
desirous first of ascertaining where the leak occurred.
"I was over at the school a few minutes ago. The janitor told me, and
Mr. Halsey and Prime were just going away together."
"Just going away together! Why, I supposed everybody had left the
building an hour ago."
"So did I, sir, but John said Mr. Halsey had kept Prime. He was having
a long talk with him 'bout something, and John heard him say that
now they had proof it wasn't Lawton that took Joy's watch, and that
they'd have him back in less than a week."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Pop, now well-nigh as vehemently interested as
his pupils. "Then you young gentlemen will be wise to go direct to
your respective rooms and get to work on the lessons for to-morrow.
It's almost dark now. Be off with you!" and, with exaggerated
sternness, the cane was displayed.
"But was it so, sir? Have you heard of Lawton?"
"Yes," said the Doctor, instantly relapsing into the confidential manner
known only to the boys he trusted and liked. "He writes that he had
been ill, but is strong again, and we are going to try and fetch him
back. Now, no more until to-morrow. Off to your books!"
If John, the janitor, had not been in such a hurry to get home, he
might have given out some news that would have surprised them, and
that was that when Mr. Halsey and Shorty Prime left the school
together they went up the avenue instead of down, and, of all places
in Gotham, Halsey led straight to the house of 61 Hose. Out in front
on the cobble-stones the dainty white Zephyr was being sponged off
and rubbed dry by three or four red-shirted experts, who glanced up
and grinned affably at "the little 'un" and looked critically but in no
surprise at the master. A New York fireman of the late '50s thought it
bad form to be unprepared for anything. "Here are two who can back
up my statements," said the boy, with confident eyes, as he beckoned
to the nearest member of the Zephyr. "Will you tell Mr. Halsey where I
met you on the way to the fire this morning, and what we said?"
The hoseman straightened up and squeezed the dirty water out of a
huge sponge, shifted a quid in his cheek, thought a moment, and
answered, "Why, cert'nly, Shorty; right down there opposite the
Harlem depot. We'd hardly gone a block when I see this little fellow
come a-running. 'What's a-fire, Shorty?' says I. 'Big house next the
stable,' says he. 'Where's your cap?' says I. And he just kind a'
nodded at the school as he grabbed the rope. You ain't going to do
nothing to him for coming to give us a still on a fire, are you?" he
asked, with something like menace in his eye.
"No," said Halsey, with one of his rare smiles. "We're glad to know it.
That'll do, Prime. Come on." And Halsey, who never wasted a second
of time, touched his hat to the Zephyrs and went streaking off down
the avenue again, the tails of his worn black frock-coat streaming in
the breeze, Shorty, much disappointed because he wasn't called upon
to produce further evidence of prowess as a fireman, skipping along
after him. The lad's heart was bounding with excitement and joy.
Another day, and if successful in the quest on which she had already
started, Mrs. Park, George Lawton's mother, would have Snipe once
more back in school, and his accusers would stand confounded. Not
for days had Shorty seemed so like his old self, bright, buoyant, and
chatting like a parrot, to the discomfiture of a most tolerant home
circle.
Morning came and all the school was early "on deck," and the news of
Snipe went buzzing from lip to lip, and Briggs nervously flitted from
group to group, swallowing snubs as though they were sugar. Meeker
came wearily in, his pale face paler than ever, his eyes seeking Halsey,
who glanced up and gravely shook his head, whereat the junior
master made a despondent gesture with both hands and went on into
his own room. Beach, his ruddy skin glowing with the exercise of a
long, vigorous walk, swung out of his top-coat and into his seat as
though lessons were to begin at the instant. He and Halsey merely
exchanged nods. They were on civil—not confidential—terms. The
janitor came and reached for the bell, lifted it by the handle from the
table, and was turning with it when, unaccountably, it was jerked from
his grasp and went clanging and clattering to the floor. The news of
Snipe had restored heart to the First Latin, and as one boy the class
turned on John in voluble sympathy. John dove for the bell,
straightened up, and started anew, when there was a jerk to the
table, a snap, and the little clapper of the bell shot half-way across the
room. Turner dashed upon it and held it up to public view, a fine steel
wire firmly attached to it and stretching to the leg of the table.
"Awe, see here, Mr. Beach, any boy that would play such a trick as
that ought to be packed out of school. I move you, sir, that it is the
sense of the First Latin——"
But Beach is in no mood for trifling. Bang! comes the heavy ruler on
the desk. "To your seat!" he orders. "Ten marks off for Turner," and
the class subsides, while John speeds away to borrow the bell from
the shop below, and the master mentally calls the roll. "One absentee,
Hoover," he notes; instantly calls Bertram to his feet and begins the
work of the day. Poor work it proves to be, for between yesterday's
fire and the morning's tidings the First Latin has neglected its studies.
Poorer it proves after ten o'clock, at which hour a policeman appears
at the door and asks for the rector. Poorer still after a recess at
twelve, at which time Mr. Hoover himself drives up in his carriage,
Halsey comes down to meet him, and together they drive away. At
any other time the fact that Halsey was away from his post at the
reassembly after recess would lead to a riot, but the sight of the face
of Hoover, pater, is more than enough for the class. "He looks like a
ghost," says Bliss. "What's coming next?"
Nothing came—ahead of the Doctor. At the usual moment he
appeared, and as usual levelled his stick at the boy at the foot. "No
message—telegraphic?" he asked of Beach, after brief glance at the
missives on his desk. A shake of the head, an inaudible "no" framed
by the lips were the answers. A look of grave concern spread over the
Doctor's face. He glanced at his watch, turned to the window, then
back to the door, for the rustle of skirts, most unusual sound, could be
heard on the stairs. Another moment and there entered Mrs. Park,
George Lawton's mother. She reached the chair the Doctor promptly
placed for her, sank into it, limp and despairing, and burst into tears.
"Doctor, Doctor!" she wailed. "My boy has not been near Bridgeport. I
couldn't find a trace of him—or of any one who knew anything about
him."
 CHAPTER XIII.
There was a change in the composition of the First Latin when the
Christmas holidays came on, and the erstwhile "band of brothers"
broke up for a fortnight of frolic at home. Hoover had not reappeared
at school at all. He had been sent South to visit relatives in Mobile "for
the benefit of his health," the rector said to the class, but there was
no twinkle of merriment in his eye as he spoke, and no responsive
laugh along the line of young faces. Strange interviews had occurred
between the Doctor, Joy, and Julian, from which "the senate" came
forth with sealed lips. Long conferences had taken place between the
Doctor, Halsey, and Beach, and twice had Briggs been bidden to stay
after school. "They wanted me to tell on lots of you fellows," was his
explanation to the class. "Pop and Halsey tried to get me to tell where
you spent your time and your money out of school, and threatened to
dismiss me if I didn't." But the First Latin answered unanimously that
Briggs was a liar. All the same they did wish they knew what was
really the matter with Hoover. There was one lad who could have
given a new direction to their theories had he not promised both the
Doctor and Halsey to say nothing whatever about that ten-dollar gold
piece, and a hard time he had keeping his word, and that was Shorty.
Neither from the Doctor nor any one, until long after, did he learn nor
did the school know that at least one hundred dollars had disappeared
from the drawer of the Doctor's desk the eventful morning of the fire.
Yet what made it strange was that rumors of such a thing had been
heard, and they came from outside the school. Columbia students
heard it whispered at Martigny's. Martigny himself admitted, when
cornered, that he had had an interview with the rector at the
residence of a gentleman in Madison Avenue, by request, but he
would say no more. One thing was certain. None of the Hulker set
reappeared at Martigny's. Another thing was announced, that Mrs.
Hulker, who for the years that followed her husband's death had
followed his example and consulted Hoover senior in all her
investments, etc., had turned against that substantial citizen and was
filling the ears of society with tales of his treachery, tales to which
Mrs. Lawrence and her coterie listened with bated breath. Then, as
has been said, the Hulker boys, too, went South, "visiting relatives in
Savannah," and the widow followed a fortnight later. Ten days before
Christmas, the so-called Hulker gang was without head, foot, or
finances, both Hulker and Hoover having disappeared. There were "no
more cakes and ale," no more cigars and tobacco for the few hangers-
on about the quarters of Metamora Hose. But, after all, the matter
over which Pop's boys talked and wondered most was: Where was
Snipe Lawton and why did nothing further come from him?
There was a mystery about the letter that had taken Shorty up to the
Doctor's early that December morning and sent an eager, anxious,
loving-hearted woman out on the New Haven Railway by the noon
train. It had come by post to Shorty just as he was starting for school,
and he had run first to the Lawrences' and then, after five minutes'
eager, excited talk with Mrs. Park, nearly all the way to Murray Hill,
and caught the Doctor on his customary tramp to college before he
reached the reservoir. It was only a little note. It said that Snipe had
been ill of some kind of fever, that he had found work and was feeling
independent and happy, hoping soon to make enough to send five
dollars to Seymour, when he was taken ill. Snipe thought he "must
have been flighty a few days," but people had been very kind to him.
He had helped two boys—his employer's sons—with their arithmetic
every night until his prostration, and it had pleased their mother and
father both, but he had let out something about his own mother, and
now they were telling him how cruel he had been to her and how he
ought to go back to her and put an end to her suffering. Snipe said he
couldn't go back to Rhinebeck and wouldn't go back to Aunt
Lawrence, but if Shorty would send the enclosed note to his mother
she would know that he loved her and thought of her constantly; and
then he asked Shorty to write to him how the boys were and whether
they missed him, and what Seymour said. "Address your letter care
Massasoit House, Bridgeport, and I'll get it safely, only don't tell
anybody." And, instead of writing, Shorty had run to Pop and Pop had
turned back with him, had sent notes by him to Mrs. Park and to
Halsey, bidding the latter give Shorty whole holiday, which, to the
astonishment of the school, he had declined.
"Why did you do that?" Halsey had asked him during their memorable
conference after the discovery of the gold in his overcoat-pocket, and
Halsey was thinking how, unconsciously, the boy was weaving a
strong thread in the net of suspicion that would have been thrown
about him but for the lucky accident of the afternoon. "Beyond all
question," said Halsey to himself and to the Doctor, "it was the
intention of the thief to cast suspicion on Prime and divert it from
himself," and there were just three lads, so far as Halsey could figure,
who besides "Loquax" were in the room during his few minutes'
absence, and had opportunity to rob that till,—Briggs, Hoover, and the
janitor. The later discovery of the gold at Martigny's narrowed the
number to Briggs and Hoover, with the chances in favor of the latter.
And all these facts combined had led to that solemn conference
between the Doctor and Hoover senior, and, despite all his protests of
innocence, to the withdrawal of the ill-favored and unfortunate young
fellow from the school. There was to be no scandal,—no allegation of
crime. Pop would have dropped a thousand dollars rather than have it
openly said that such things had happened among his boys. His own
suspicions for months past had centred on his hulking, clumsy janitor,
and for weeks the detectives had dogged and dogged in vain. What
confounded and troubled the Doctor was young Hoover's vehement
and persistent denial of guilt, and Hoover senior's prompt assertion
that on the Saturday afternoon previous to quarter day, when giving
his son the check for his school bill, he had also given him twenty-five
dollars in gold and silver to pay certain debts the young man had
confessed to him, and he was certain there were two ten-dollar pieces
in the lot.
Those were solemn days for the elder Hoover and rueful days for the
son. There were conferences, crossexaminations, and almost
inquisitions at the solemn old mansion, Pop, Halsey, Martigny (most
unwillingly), and Beach taking part. But the boy stood firm to his first
statement. He had had no more money from any source than that
twenty-five dollars. He long refused to say what he had done with it,
as only a little silver remained, but at last owned that he had given
the two tens "for safe-keeping" to the elder of the Hulker brothers as
they stood there by the hose carriage. There was an unsettled
account between them, covering only a few dollars, Hoover claimed,
but the Hulkers said a great deal more, and while they were trying to
straighten it out the Doctor swooped down on him and bore him
away. This, if true, would account for the money Hulker gave
Martigny. But who took the money from the Doctor's drawer? Who put
that ten-dollar piece in Shorty's overcoat-pocket? Why didn't Shorty
wish to take the whole holiday with the other boys as proffered by the
Doctor? Halsey had to ask him, and it was plain the little fellow hated
to answer, but answer he did. He was being educated at the expense
of his relatives. They had made occasional criticism of the Doctor's
proclivity as to half-holidays, and when this quarter day came Shorty
had been not unkindly told that the money expended in payment for
those school bills was for his instruction, not his amusement, that
Saturday and Sunday were holidays enough in the week, and, finally,
that he should have his check on Wednesday, and meantime they
expected him to attend school.
One more question had Halsey to ask, and over it the youngster
pondered long, though he answered instantly. "It was not four
minutes—not much more than three—between the time you came in
and the moment of the announcement of the fire. Was there no sign
of it when you crossed Twenty-fifth Street? Didn't you know that the
alarm would be given in a minute?"
"No, sir, there wasn't a sign or a sound of it on the avenue; besides, I
came through Twenty-fourth Street, from the direction of the
Lawrences';" and that ended Halsey's cross-examination. To clinch
matters, he had taken Shorty with him, as has been told, and
questioned a fireman of 61 Hose, then sent him home for dry
clothing, happy in the importance of having held 28's pipe a whole
half-hour, and hungry as a bear. Small wonder that the family decided
after dinner that evening that it was time to call a halt on this craze
for running to fires on the part of their junior member. But events
were looming up that were soon to spare them further care in that
direction.
What the First Latin and Pop and Halsey and Beach now longed to
know, however, was, where was Snipe, and why had Mrs. Park failed
in her mission? The rector and his head-master had now good reason
to know that whether Lawton had anything to do with the
disappearance of Joy's watch (which none of them could really
believe), he was not the only thief in the school, for the loss of the
hundred dollars long after his disappearance conclusively settled that.
There were now not more than half a dozen lads who believed that
Snipe was dishonest to the extent of stealing a watch, not more than
a dozen who doubted his integrity at all, and as for his saying in his
letter that he could be reached through the Massasoit at Bridgeport,
there were theories in abundance to explain the fact that neither in
person nor by letter had Snipe "reported." He never said where he
had found work; he had not given the address of his benefactors; he
still, it seemed, dreaded that his step-father would enforce his return
to a life that was torment to a boy of his character and spirit. He had
merely told Shorty that a letter addressed care of the Massasoit,
Bridgeport, would reach him; and, learning this through the
admissions wrung from his sorely badgered "chum," and never
waiting to write, the impulsive woman had gone at once in person,
and the Massasoit people knew nothing whatever of the son. No one
answering his description had been there, and as for letters being
sent in care of the house, they showed her a bundle of missives so
addressed. Every day guests would arrive, register, ask if letters had
come for them, ransack the packet, select their own, and toss the
others back. Some they showed her had been waiting a month for
claimants. If she were to leave a letter addressed in their care for her
son and if he were to call for it, they would telegraph to her, but that
was all they could promise, and, after consulting the city authorities
and, of course, the minister of the church to whose doctrines she had
pinned her faith, and all without hearing of a lad who in the least
resembled her George, the sad-hearted woman had gone miserably
back to Gotham and to Pop.
Then, of course, she wrote, and so did Shorty. Both letters begged
Snipe to return, but by this time Mr. Park himself had come to New
York to persuade his wife to go back to her home and to promise that
he himself would seek and find the wandering boy and fetch him to
her arms,—the worst piece of strategy that could have been adopted,
as Shorty, boy that he was, could have told her and would have told
Park. Left to his mother and to his chum, the lad's heart might have
relented and his stubborn pride dissolved, but there are men
sublimely gifted with the faith that they alone are competent to deal
with affairs, either public or personal,—that without their aid and
guidance everything is sure to go amiss. Park sped away to the
Massasoit on the heels of the letters, and when George Lawton drove
in with the hope of finding the longed-for messages from home, and
went from the stable where they had put up the sleigh straight and
eager to the Massasoit, there, with his back to the huge, red-hot
stove and facing the office desk, as though to guard that package of
letters, there, grim, unbending, repellent as ever, stood George
Lawton's step-father, and the lad, scenting treachery, turned and fled.
When the school assembled for the eventful year of '61, the First Latin
found itself reduced to twenty-five. Hoover, it was announced, would
spend some months in Mobile with a private tutor and rejoin after
Easter. From Snipe Lawton there came neither message, missive, nor
token. A rumor flew from lip to lip one April morning that a lad
answering every description of the missing boy had fallen from the
steps of a New Haven train through a gap between the beams of the
Harlem bridge and was lost in the murky waters. The brakeman who
saw the accident was well known to members of the school who lived
at New Rochelle, and so impressed the Doctor with his story that
reward was offered for the body, and men dragged the river for
several days. "What you need," said one of the wiseacres of the First
Latin, "is to fire cannon over the stream, and that'll bring him up if
anything will," and the words were recalled when, within another day,
the guns of Sumter boomed from shore to shore, rousing a nation
from its lethargy, bringing many a man and boy to vivid life and action
such as they had never known or dreamed before.